Futures
by Only Destroys
Summary: Lightning ponders what her future will be like without Serah... will she ever fall in love?  Will she ever truly be happy?  An unexpected attraction to a particular tribeswoman shatters her life as she knows it, and life gets a little more interesting.


Hello everyone. This is my first FFXIII fic, and while I have seen many cutscenes from the game and know a lot of backstory, there is a good chance I will get some things wrong. If it's a big deal, feel free to politely message me about it, but otherwise, please overlook it when possible. ^^; Also, I have a slight idea as far as plot goes, but any and all suggestions are welcome. I enjoy feedback.

I hope you enjoy it!

- Futures -

It was a dreary, rainy night. I had been out on a 6-hour job hunt today, going from interview to interview. I'd probably visited close to thirty businesses, some visits longer than others, some brief. Dressed in what one could call 'professional' attire: a frilled sleeveless blouse cut low, but hiding any cleavage, a brown-grey skirt that goes right to the middle of the knees, tailored to fit my waist and accompanying curves comfortably, but not too tight… Patterned tights, heels. Ugh. Heels. I actually had to practice walking in them, much to Serah's amusement. "This is really becoming of you, sis! You should wear clothes like this more often!" No thank you. Pants and a shirt and jacket are just fine with me.

Yes, this could be considered professional attire, though how was I any sort of professional? I was just a teenager, with a few sharp skills under her belt, trying to find a way to make a living. Still, my calm and slightly cold, but practical demeanor won some over, I could tell as we sat, talking about my opinion of their companies, and why exactly was I there, inquiring about a job. As if I really cared _where_ it was. We just do it to survive. Everyone does. I was doing this… to survive. So Serah could be happy…

"Claire?" It is a name I answer to only when it comes from her. I open my eyes. In the darkness, the rain beats on the window softly, making soft patting and trickling noises. The smell of the moisture permeates the air and I breathe deeply. Feel Serah's head on my chest rise and fall with the movement. Part of me wishes she was asleep already. She has school early tomorrow. "Yes, Serah, what is it?"

I feel her hair brush my chin as she shifts, her blanketed body dappled with the raindrops' shadows against the moonlight. We have slept in the same bed ever since… the accident. At first, right after our parents died, I wanted to object- wanted her to be strong and independent, but I never actually minded. Now, a year later, it isn't the slightest issue. Who am I to deny my sisters' comfort?

"I was thinking… I know it probably won't be too long before you get a boyfriend… and then get married…" Her voice was soft, and I could tell she was trying to be matter-of-fact. "But…do you think… I could live with you and your husband, at least for a little while until I can save up to get a house of my own?" Her inquiry was all too innocent, worried, but holding back on sounding desperate. My dear sister…

The question catches me off guard. Me… boyfriend? Married? All of the questions and wonders passing through my head translate into 'my future' and 'love'. It does not compute. Not that kind of love, anyway. The 6-hour job search today… the many nights and days of cooking, the cleaning, spontaneous gifts, entertainment, forced smiles… everything that has happened has been because of her. For her. Now she is turning the tables… as if I could actually live my life for me. The question seems like it would make more sense coming from my mouth- mentioning marriage, anyway. Not so sure about the 'living together' thing. I wouldn't want to crowd my sister and her new husband.

It dawns on me that she can't really see just how much I do for her… and how little I deprive myself. Which is perfectly fine. That means she isn't feeling guilty… and now isn't the time to start. Her question brings into play another subject… a man? Again, I search for a feeling towards this, but come up with nothing.

I give my sister's head a pat as I smile softly and close my eyes. "Serah, we have quite a ways until it's time to start thinking about that. And you know I will never leave you." I lean forward to kiss the top of her head, and I feel her cheek muscles work themselves into a smile below my collar bones.

"I love you sis."

"I love you too, Serah."

Still. The thought bothers me…Future. Marriage. Man…

And now… 6 years later, the question still plagues me. Serah hasn't asked about the matter ever since. Perhaps it's because now she can see my independence, my ways. My practicality. Courtship and Lightning Farron do not mix, not if you know me. Which is fine. Isn't it? It's still okay for a young woman my age to be numb to the thought, right?

I give a slight toss of my head, moving my bangs out of my eyes as I close one eye and focus on the target in front of me. I pull the trigger once, and the pained yelp of a man reaches my ears, letting me know the goal has been fulfilled. Now, time to move.

Maybe men do not interest me because all I saw of them were the ones that occupied the lower ranks of the Corps. Striving to be macho, as strong and many as possible. Showing off, getting into arguments about who could take who, so on and so forth. Bah. It didn't interest me in the slightest.

I tuck and roll as the expected shot comes toward me, the electric bullet impacting with the wall I was pressed against just a second ago, and hear the buzzing noise as it electrocutes the concrete. A hushed curse word resounds from where the bullet came. I can't help my lips from curling into a small amused smile. Time to shoot again. I inch up to the wall I am closest to, holding the awkward training gun up, preparing to turn the corner and shoot, when I feel the small bullet slam against my shoulder. The depth of the impact tells me the bruise will stay for weeks. Screw the snipers from above.

I knew that without looking, all of them were trained on me, each soldier wanting to get a piece of Lightning Farron, the swiftest soldier in the corps. Even though I am now running and the bullet is yards away already on the ground, the electricity that has been planted ignites the spot of impact and a two-inch perimeter, engulfing, shocking the entire joint. I grit my teeth and focus at the task at hand.

Even when I raise my hand to aim and command my finger to pull the trigger, nothing happens. Against my will, I drop the gun. Too late… my arm is now completely numb, leaving the shoulder in agonizing pain. Sounds like an oxymoron, but the sensation tells otherwise. I don't have time to pick it up with my good hand as the other soldiers come out of hiding and rush me, halting around me on all sides 9 feet away. I do not hesitate to go into a fighting stance, though I know the chance will never come.

I can feel their fingers imposing on their triggers when the buzzer sounds and the bright lights come on in the arena. Everyone holds their position till the buzzer is over, then (I swear, I can see the reluctance in their body language) they relax, dropping their weapons, body armor clacking as they make their way back to the lockers to change. One man who calls himself Leonard doesn't hold back the satisfied if not slightly sadistic smile as he stands and examines me, his eyes scanning the crinkle of pain on my furrowed brow, my set jaw as I quietly suffer. I can hear him chuckling as he turns and walks with the other guys, obviously relishing in the victory.

Which doesn't make much sense, for I am the only one in the arena who is not wearing any armor. Tch. Men…

I catch myself. When did I start making stereotypical remarks about the male race? I couldn't recall another time where I had a thought pass through like that- sure, something along the lines of calling someone a dumbass, or 'what the hell were you thinking?' But never simply… 'Men'. I scratch my head as I walk to the women's locker room in solitude. They don't deserve to be singled out, do they? Am I that subconsciously removed from them that I would look down on them in particular? The attendant at the door holds out a cloth made to soothe the aftermath of a charge bullet, ready to put it on my injury. But I quietly refuse. Something is changing… or is it?

What is Lightning Farron's future? Not even I know. But the question Serah asked me those years ago still echoes in the back of my mind… constantly. And now, it resonates louder than ever before.


End file.
